


152 - White Leather (by Wolf Alice)

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: M/M, Reader-Insert, Songfic NonCatfish, Van McPan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 09:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17404070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “comforts you when you love someone but that person doesn’t love you back? like a really fluffy one!” and “something inspired by White Leather by Wolf Alice, you’re free to end it however you want it to; sad or happy.”





	152 - White Leather (by Wolf Alice)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I had two choices with White Leather. Either it’s from the P.O.V. of Van - which I don’t write, or it’s from Reader’s P.O.V. And if you think I’m going to sit here and write a fic where Reader sees Van with the lads and makes up this whole story about their soon-to-be-relationship, but he doesn’t give Reader the time of day… you are wrong. That is heartbreak I am not here for. Lol. So, I present to you, choice three. Wildcard. Enjoy! Also, bisexual boy reader! Surrrrrrprise!

She was so pretty. So. Goddamn. Pretty. Baby pink dress. Dirty sneakers. A fucking hot mess, if you ever did see one. You first saw her outside smoking with her friends, then inside dancing when nobody else was. Immediately your head told you a story of a relationship you could have. She'd be charmed by your awkwardness. You'd buy her a drink, and she'd sip it slowly so that she'd get to spend more time with you. She'd want a loft apartment with exposed brick walls and crisp white bed sheets. Photographs through the window of a sun setting over a city skyline. Half-finished mugs of instant coffee. Finding strands of her hair everywhere; knowing you should be disgusting but instead being grateful that you got to think of her again. Maybe when you had kids you'd move to a bigger house. There would a fireplace and three cats. White Christmases. Your friends would come and visit and marvel at the beautiful life you'd built with the girl from the bar. You saw big things for her. You made plans for the two of you.

"Mate. Just go talk to her," Van said. You looked across the table. "Which one you got your eyes on?" he asked.

"Pink dress,"

"Okay. So… Go talk to her," he said again. You shook your head.

"She's way too fucking pretty,"

"Have you already done that thing you do where you imagine your entire life with her? You've named the kids, haven't you?"

"Fuck off, McCann. Like you're any better," you replied, throwing a bottle cap at him. He laughed.

"I'm not. So I know how ya feel. Go fuckin' talk to her,"

"I'll buy her a drink," you said as you stood and walked away. Van went to say something but you were gone.

You asked the bartender what she was drinking, and he gave you a look of judgement. You could feel your cheeks go red, but as he put your beer and her better-branded beer on the bar you felt accomplished. Breathing in and out in an act designed to calm you, you took a second to think of something to say. Not a pickup line, but something funny and clever and cute. Your brain was coming up short, so you committed to just saying hi.

Her group of friends didn't notice your approach. They all stood as you were only a metre away from their table, then they just walked past. They were reaching into their bags and pockets for cartons of cigarettes. For the briefest of moments, her gaze met yours. Maybe, just maybe she'd see the big things in your eyes. She kept walking, like you weren't there. No hello. Not even a smile. You could feel your skin get hot. Frozen in space and time there were no options to consider. You chugged both beers consecutively, then stormed out the bar.

It wasn't until you were a block away you could feel your face again. The cold night breeze was good. Then, someone calling your name. It was Van. He was running after you. Caught up, he pulled you into a one-armed hug.

"Where you going, mate?" he asked. You watched him catch his breath. You didn't know why he bothered to ask the question. He wouldn’t have chased you down the road if he didn’t know what had happened. Van was the most polite of all the guys you knew though. It was almost your favourite thing about him.

"Home," you finally answered.

"Nah. Come on. I'm sorry. Let's go back to mine and you can drink all my wine and we'll play Fifa," he offered.

"I don't want to play Fifa,"

"I know. You want to marry the girl in the pink dress. But that didn't work out, so… Let me distract you," he said. It hurt to hear it out loud.

"Fuck!" you yelled into the darkness. You were screaming for the 'us' that could have existed between you and the girl. Van held back a smile. "Why are you fuckin' laughing?" you asked.

"I'm not! I just… You need to calm down. She don't even know you. Don't owe it to you to say hi or anything. You know? Gotta handle… this better," he said.

"By this do you mean rejection? What the fuck is wrong with me?! How come everyone else gets to have the perfect fucking relationship and job and house and everything and I'm on my own. It's not fair," you said. It was probably not the response Van was looking for when he told you to calm down.

"Mate. First off, life isn't fair. Gonna have to cope with that one. Second, not everyone has the perfect… everythin', alright? Besides. You're not on your own. I'm here. We're going to mine. We'll get drunk. You'll be fine. Come on," he said with a roll of the eyes and an arm around the shoulder.

Van walked you back up the block and pushed you into a taxi, which he directed to his house. Inside the front door, he called for Larry, but there was no answer. "Must still be out," Van said with a shrug. He told you to go turn the television on. His lounge room was warm and you'd been there many times before. The parties he and Larry threw were always good, but the quiet nights where you'd all sit around and smoke and talk were better.

Filled with beer and wine, your gaming skills were significantly impaired. Eventually, you gave up and resigned to watching Van play against the machine. You liked the sounds he made and how animated he was. They always reminded you of when you'd first met him. He was playing Fifa then too, against a mutual friend. You had a crush on Van before you became proper friends. Nobody knew and you did a good job at quelling those emotions. Now that was a skill you had on lock. Thinking about it made you remember the girl in the pink dress. Van was right; she didn't owe you anything. None of the people you liked did. It's not how relationships and interactions work.

"Van?" you whispered.

"Ah-huh," he replied, listening but attention divided.

"How come all the people I like never like me back?"

Van went still, the weight of the question not lost on him. He paused the game and turned around. He was sitting on his knees in front of the couch you were laying on. He looked at you carefully, and you could see he was only a little less drunk than you.

"Not everyone that I've liked wanted me back," he said.

"I don't believe that. You're Van McCann. All famous and cool and shit," you said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. He swatted your hand away playfully.

"Fuck off. It's not like that. I'm not like that,"

"Yeah, I know. You're a massive fucking weirdo. If all those people really knew you, they'd probably not even look at you twice," you said.

"Oi. I know you're hurting, but let's not get into a round of Hurt Van's Feelings," he joked, grinning. "I'm sorry about the girl, but… It's just not meant to be! You'll find someone that is always there when you need and does look at you how you want them to and it will be good. Just gotta trust that, you know,"

"Why can't it happen now?"

"Mate, 'cause right now you're a whiney drunk and no girl is gonna put up with that bullshit," Van laughed, sitting down on his butt, resuming the game.

"Or guy. Please don't erase my sexuality," you said, half joking half not. Van snorted and nodded. "I'm serious," you added, deciding that you were all of a sudden. Van paused Fifa again and looked over at you.

"I'm not… I know you're bi,"

"I know you know but everyone still talks to me like I'm not. They're always like 'oh don't worry you'll find a girl' and 'your future wife this' and 'your future wife that' and there's every chance I'll like a boy next because I've liked more boys than girls," you could feel yourself getting upset, and you sat up and your words started to come out fast and you weren't looking at Van so you couldn't see his face contort into sadness for you. He sat up and went to try to comfort you, but quickly decided that it was best to let you speak. "And I'm just sick of everyone making assumptions about me and whenever I do sleep with a girl you all want details but nobody ever asks what it's like to fuck a guy and it's hypocritical and homophobic and just really fucking fucked off about it," you finished, running out of things to say. Van shuffled closer on his knees and rested one arm across your legs and reached up and wiped a tear off your face with a thumb.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to do any of that. Also, I have asked you so many times about what sex with a guy is like and you literally tell me to fuck off every time. I think you think I'm joking, but I'm not."

You looked at Van carefully. The night of the mood had been constantly shifting. From casual drinks with friends, to Van helping you forget a misguided attempt at picking up. Then, angry resentment about assumed heterosexuality. But it was shifting again. You could feel it. Van's arm on your legs was heavier than it should have been. The way he was looking at you meant something you couldn't read.

"Why?" you asked.

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to know?"

The answer was obvious, so neither of you needed it to be said. Instead, Van launched himself off the ground and onto you. His lips collided with yours and he was pulling your shirt off faster than you could comprehend.

"Wait, Van, wait," you said. He stopped but left his head pressed to yours, his hands on your chest. "When… what… Since when were you bi?" Van laughed.

"Way to assume my sexuality,"

"Fuck off," you replied, pushing at him.

"Also 'since when'? Like it's not just a from-birth thing, mate? And another also, not bi. Pan,"

"What?!" you replied, your voice doing the thing his did when he was shocked or startled. "As if you even know what that is?"

"Wow," he said, his tone low. He chuckled and kissed you again. "Who's the fuckin' hypocrite now."

You let it go. Your head was having a hard time coordinating hands and kisses, let alone attempting the monumental task of thinking about Van McCann being pansexual. It was a dream you wanted to give your full attention to.

You started to kiss back, the girl in the pink dress becoming a fleeting moment that resided in your memory as only a catalyst for the point of first contact between you and Van.


End file.
